


taking on the ice

by Blepbean



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hockey, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Skating, Fluff, Idiots in Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Strangers to Lovers, and a bit of mutual pining i think, author barely proofread, i finished this at like 1:20 am so i have no idea what's happenin, idk - Freeform, kind of like flirting there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-13 15:07:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29155560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blepbean/pseuds/Blepbean
Summary: Mako is a ice hockey player.And Wu is a up and coming figure skater.What happens when they have to share the ice together?“Call me Wu,” he says. HIs face bright like the sun, gentle like the leaves of a sunflower. If Mako can’t even bear to touch him, he’s in another dimension that can’t ever be close toSo instead he just grimaces at him, let’s his hand hang from his side and says, “nice to meet you.”
Relationships: Mako/Prince Wu (Avatar)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 47





	taking on the ice

**Author's Note:**

> ok this was not my au this was taken form [this twitter post](https://twitter.com/DippittyDip/status/1356050275300216837?s=20) and i was like lemme write this and like btw im so sorry for the errors i like quickly wrote this and thought it was a cute idea, i might edit this later?? idk??? but for now, you're gonna be stuck with the errors that i made
> 
> kudos, comments and feedback is appreciated

**_Bolin_ **

_ Sorry man i can’t practise with you today _

**_Mako_ **

_?? _

**_Bolin_ **

_ Dude i’m eating noodles with korra _

_ And it’s good noodles _

**_Mako_ **

_ You’re trying to get in with her again? _

**_Bolin_ **

_ Nah _

_ I don’t want to catch your love triangle curse _

**_Mako_ **

_ … _

**_Bolin_ **

_ Dude chill _

_ I’m pretty sure she’s interested in someone else anyways _

**_Mako_ **

_ All right but you the two of you better practise your foot work! _

_ Atleast asami’s better than the two of you in that _

**_Bolin_ **

_ Hey _

_ Not my fault she’s a figure skater _

_ She’s just joining in for fun bro  _

**_Mako_ **

_ And she’s already better than u _

**_Bolin_ **

_ :P _

_ Noodles getting called _

_ Byeee _

Mako shoves his phone into his pockets and sighs, turning his bike towards the back of the ice rink building. His hockey bag grows heavy on his shoulder when he steps off his bike, taking the time to tie it up to a post. The back of the rink is bare, nothing but an empty and unused docking area.

He looks through the metal fence, there’s construction going on.

He plugs in his earbuds and fixes his red scarf. He cranks up his SZA..

They’re lucky that they got this rink all for themselves, last time they just had the frozen lake to practise on. With Asami joining the team purely because Korra’s here, she’s allowed them to use just  _ one  _ of the ice rink buildings. He fishes out the keys from his pocket and inserts it into the door.

It swings wide open.

There’s the familiar smell of sweat and Asami’s perfume in the hallway, hung up on the walls are medals from Asami’s competitions, ranging from States and even to Nationals (“I could go for International, but the stress wouldn’t look good on my skin”, she said). The media goes wild for her, and she soaks up that attention like a natural, stating that she loves doing this, it’s her passion.

Now she’s switching things up for a bit of a change, which includes holding a hockey stick and entering their hockey team. The coaches seem happy enough that she can even play centre.

She surprisingly plays well with Korra.

This rink building is special, only the four of them use this to practise. The actual team uses a much smaller, less grand building which always smells of musky cleaning products and too much axe deodorant. He walks further down the hall, catching glimpses of more recent photos that they have hung on the walls, with the four of them skating on the ice, Asami’s first goal and even the team winning States.

They have a good shot at entering Nationals.

Which means potential scouts that could recruit Mako and into the NCAA, which means that they would  _ never  _ have to worry about financial plans.

It’s a good plan.

But it hangs on  _ if  _ they’ll consider him.

He goes on autopilot and enters the changing rooms, changing out of his hockey gear. It’s clean and sturdy, not the type that had pull bits and parts from the lost and found to make a francestein gear, with mismatched colours and sizes. 

He smiles. Knowing that he can leave his hockey bag in the lockers without having it stolen.

He leaves the changing room and into the store room, with his skates hanging from his hockey stick. He takes cones and a few pucks, gets down from the ladder. Usually, before games, a sickly feeling would manifest into his stomach, full of nerves and shaky hands, the thought that  _ everything  _ is dependent on him.

Today, he just feels eager to get into the ice. It’s his home, he first learned how to skate when he was three in the nearby frozen lake. He picked up his first hockey stick when he was seven, and joined his first hockey team at the age of twelve.

It’s bound by his blood.

He throws open the doors and he’s met by the booming sound of Rihanna’s  _ Desperado _ in the giant rink building.

And he’s not even shocked by the music—Bolin often blasts it when he showers—but it’s the random stranger skating on the ice.

Winter sunlight comes through the big windows above and lands on the boy’s deep, brown skin. He wears those  _ ridiculous  _ bodysuits that those pretentious figure skaters wear, but it surprisingly looks good on him. It’s the colour of forest green, covered with glitter, golden embroidery attached to the body suit. 

Mako  _ does  _ not stare at the V-line that runs from his neck and all the way to the top of his stomach.

He  _ does  _ not do that.

  
But he does notice that his hair is gelled up.

But it’s not just his outfit though, it’s the way he effortlessly skates backwards with his eyes closed. There’s a certain grace to him, light like a feather, his arms stretched out. Mako has to admit that people often think that figure skating is easy work, but he’s quickly proven by Asami’s quick spins on the ice or how fast she skates.

And this boy can  _ skate _ , he’s quick. 

He feels the beat echo in the very ground. The stranger changes, he spins on the ice on knee, then quickly stands, then quickly spins on one leg. He couldn’t even do a simple rotation when Asami showed him.

The music rises, and the boy tucks his arms to gain velocity in his spins.

Mako can’t get his eyes off him.

Within a second however, the boy trips over an error that Mako couldn’t see and lands flat on his ass on the ice. Suddenly he looks less like a literal figure skating prodigy and more like a boy, a teenager

He looks roughly the same age as Mako.

Then it clicks on him that this is a stranger. And he shouldn’t be staring at him like an idiot. 

“Who are you?!” He booms over the radio, he walks over near the gate, “how did you even get in?”

The boy stands up, wiping the sweat from his forehead, “oh my god I’m so sorry, you must be Mako!” He skates over towards Mako, leaning against the board, “did you get the message from Asami?”

A second later he feels his phone buzz in his pocket. He pulls it out.

It’s Asami.

**_Asami_ **

_ Hey sorry just a heads up a friend is sharing the rink with you today _

_ Sorry _

_ He’s really nice and is really nervous so be nice to him  _

_ Okay mako? _

**_Mako_ **

_ … _

**_Asami_ **

_ Don’t kill him plz _

He hears him yell at his speaker to turn off, suddenly they’re plunged into silence. Mako can study his face clearly now, the sharpness of hise jawline, the softness of his hand. His lips quirk into a small smile, he reaches out to offer Mako a handshake.

“Call me Wu,” he says. HIs face bright like the sun, gentle like the leaves of a sunflower. If Mako can’t even  _ bear  _ to touch him, he’s in another dimension that can’t  _ ever  _ be close to.

So instead he just grimaces at him, let’s his hand hang from his side and says, “nice to meet you.”

Cold, like always. He looks down on the ground and drops his hockey bag on the floor and sits on the boards to put on his skates, when he finishes, he steadies himself onto the ice. It’s second nature, just like walking or breathing.

“Whatever,” Mako says, he looks up at Wu, “just don’t come to my side of the ice. Stay in yours.”

Wu shrugs, he yells at his speaker to start up again and he skates to his side. The music echoes all over the empty building, there’s something static in the air that Mako can’t put his finger on. He focuses, setting up the cones and skating with ease, one hand holding his hockey stick while dropping cones in the usual pattern that he does for a practise and drills.

He tucks the red scarf closer to him, it smells like vanilla. His father’s favourite scent.

Mako rolls his shoulder back. He really should be wearing his helmet.

Bolin would probably tell him off for it if he was here.

Whatever.

He steadies two hands on his hockey stick and feels his shaky breaths coming. He bites his lip, he  _ does  _ not look backwards to see Wu going airborne.

He grimaces, drops the puck and sets off. Who does he think he is? Showing off. He’s definitely showing off. He speeds through the cones, letting ice fly against his skates as he goes, pivoting the puck as he skates sideways, almost touching the board. He almost loses his balance.

He squints and slapshots the puck at the goal.

He does it effortlessly, and he feels all the energy in him slowly leaving as he sighs, halting to a stop while he leans against the board and wiping the sweat off his forehead. He wonders if Wu’s watching? Is he watching? If he’s trying to outdo Mako, then he’ll bite then.

  
He turns to see Wu staring right back at him.

He quickly turns to look away and starts on his next few drills.

===

Mako quickens his speed.

Wu matches his.

Mako does quick turns and switchovers, handling the puck with ease.

  
Wu answers with delicate spins and even a single backflip, landing on one foot.

  
He’s pretty sure that move is banned from being too dangerous.

Mako wipes the sweat from his forehead, his mouth quirking into something inguistable. He speeds up his skate, letting it make deep cuts on the ice. The grip on his hockey stick grows tighter, his knuckles going red. It feels like he can hear the music echo in his very ears, and they’re like two strangers fighting for the ice.

Because he  _ hates  _ how he effortlessly makes it look good, or how he takes up space on the ice. Mako does that, what he lacks at what for his body and size, he makes it up for his size and speed. He’s aggressive and fast, with an unapologetic scowl on his face. He doesn’t bother to hesitate.

He grits his teeth and leans against the board, heaving breaths while taking big gulps from his water bottle. Meanwhile, Wu is only half as tired as he is, he’s sitting flat on the ice, sweat on his forehead as he stretches his legs. The music is still booming.

Fine, he’s given up, “can you please turn off that goddamn music!” He booms.

Wu only looks up, “huh?”

“Your  _ fucking  _ music—” he takes a breath “—it distracting me.”

Then Wu looks at him.

Makes a face. 

“Oh,” Wu says, he stands up, “chill, Mako. Why didn’t you say so pal?”   
  


Like it didn’t take everything in his body to force those words out, to let it out and look at him. He hates that it takes him more effort to speak with  _ him _ , this stranger. He shouts at the speaker to stop, and they fall into a deathly silent. He skates to the board, taking something out of his tiny bag that he didn’t notice he had with him.

“I”ll use airpods,” he says, “don’t worry!”

Mako weakly smiles at him, this sudden change of heart is something that shocks him. He was just pulling airbourne tricks a few minutes ago. Now here he is, meekly smiling at him while he skates at the centre to practise his routine all over again. He extends his left hand at the front, right at his side.

This boy is a paradox that he can’t comprehend. 

Mako tears his eyes away, skating back at the boards to check his phone.

It’s in the afternoon.

Crap.

===

“Dude,” Bolin through the phone, “what’s taking you so long?”

Mako balances his hockey bag on his shoulder, pedalling faster and shifting his bike to the left to make up for the weight. He turns to the left while he skates past a car.

He adjusts his headphones before speaking, “sorry, got too caught up in practising.”   
  


“You need to  _ chill _ Mako,” Bolin sighs, “didn’t you like, had to share the rink or something?”

“No?” Mako lies, “who told you that.”

“Asami,” he says, “one of her figure skating friends, met him like a week ago when you were in practising while I was out with Korra—”

“—I need to practise my slapshots,” Mako huffs, “I need to be in top shape—”

“—and be the best player on the team,” Bolin finished for him, “blah, blah, blah. I know, but you know we’re gonna be fine, right?”

“You know about our  _ plan _ .”

“What plan?”   
  


“The plan is that I’m gonna be a professional hockey player,” Mako gritts through his teeth, he starts to pedal faster.

“You’re literally a junior barely passing your maths class.”   
  


“Whatever.”

He can hear the sounds of something being moved in the background, Mako pauses at a car going past. He takes a moment to look at the neighbourhood, at the long shadows growing on the asphalt, the sun growing dangerously low. There’s the quiet in the suburbs that everyone usually takes for granted.

He likes this peace.

“Well we’re still waiting for you to come for dinner.”

“Late lunch.”

“Late lunch,” Bolin says, “in the park. Just don’t push yourself, all right?”

“Save some for me,” he sighs, “I have work.”

“What?” Bolin sighs, “come on, Mako.”

“Whatever,” he says, “I’m gonna be late, I won’t be back till 2.”

“2 am?”

“Need to get more—”

“—practise in,” Bolin finishes for him, “don’t push yourselves, I gotta go, Korra’s trying to shove a burrito in her mouth.” The call ends, and what’s left is an empty ringing inside his ears. For a moment, he lets himself think about laying still, about the future. Of all those gross things like love and marriage— _ goddamn Bolin and Opal and their disgustingly adorable relationship _ —and he thinks of swaying in the kitchen or maybe that chaotic time between college and high school, where time doesn’t exist and they just…  _ be _ . In the kitchen early in the morning stealing kisses.

Everyone’s already getting into relationships.

He already tried, once.

It ended in a mess.

He grumbles and pedals faster, already craving doing monotonous and easy work that he can do so his mind won’t drift off. Carrying garbage cans or maybe washing dishes, loading the cargo and into the freezer.

It’s how he finds himself at the end of his shift, sitting in the dark alleyway with the stench of rats and sewage, his hockey bag still with him. It’s dark, the only source is a dim street light that only attracts moths and flickers every second. Steam rises through the restaurant’s window and he hears the faint sound of the cook yelling at the newcomer.

He sighs and lights a cigarette to calm himself.

When that doesn't work he rides back to the rink building, taking in the sudden quiet in the night. At midnight, the suburban houses are quiet, everyone rushing to their bed. A part of him feels like he shouldn't be out here, that he should be in bed. But here he rides under the yellow hues of the streetlights, nothing but the booming sound of Sufjan Stevens in his ears and the faint noise of dogs.

He rides to the back and almost drops the key when he tries to open it.

It swings open. 

He switches on the light and doesn’t bother changing out of his work uniform, which is a pair of slack pants and a white shirt, his red scarf safe in his hockey bag.. He doesn’t even bother to change to his hockey gear. He just goes into the rink. Take his skates. Puts them on. Puts his bag down and finds his hockey stick.

He also finds a random puck on the ground. He shoves it into his pockets.

Mako doesn’t bother to do any drills or even skate… he kind of just sits on the board and stares at the ice. This helps him think, this place, sometimes even the quiet in the suburbs or loud music blaring in his ears isn’t enough. Here, he can think.

He can see himself older, maybe twenty, on a scholarship doing whatever kind of four year course in uni is easiest or what he finds interesting. He’ll work hard, be the best on that team and maybe get scouted there easier. The scouts aren’t even bothering to bat an eye in their team, only using them as media coverage.

He groans.

What snaps him out of his thoughts is the door opening behind him, he gets ready to brandish his hockey stick as a weapon.

But it’s just Wu.

He looks like a normal teenager dressed in sweats and a hoodie, hair falling into it’s natural curls.

“Sorry,” Wu puts his hands up, “what are you doing here.”

“I could ask you the same thing,” Mako says, “can you turn off the lights, it’s just near the doors.”

Wu flicks them off, the whole rink falls into total darkness; then blooms into light. Moonlight streams through the windows and lights up the space in it’s silver light. Next to him Wu sits on the board, skates in hand as he puts them.

Mako notices the difference in his skates, there’s something at the top of the metal.

“What’s that?”   
  


“Toe pick,” Wu hums, he ties his left one before moving onto his right, “helps with spins and stuff.”

“Oh,” Mako hums, “cool.”

“I didn’t expect to find you here,” Wu breathes out, “I usually come to skating rinks at night, helps me think and calm down.”

Mako stays silent. 

Wu continues, “sometimes I skate here like I would when I was younger, no weird fucking tricks or anything. Just that like the pure joy of just  _ skating _ , just going in laps and just existing. What about you? Why are  _ you  _ here?’

Too many thoughts to sort out. Mako bites down on his tongue.

“I remember learning how to skate—”

“—why are you here?” Mako blurts out, “w-why are you talking to me?”   
  


Wu shrugs, “because I thought you were lonely.”

Mako chuckles dryly, “whatever.”

“But,” Wu scoots closer to him, “come on, you must have a reason to come here this late. Spill it out man.”

“I just come here to think.”

“Like me?”

“Like you,” Mako nods. Wu sighs, he hops off the board and into the ice, hands into the pockets of his hoodie.

“Come, skate with me. Your outfit looks nice.”

“Fuck off,” Mako mumbles dryly, “I had work.”

He does get off the board. Suddenly he feels the tug of hand on him, it’s like a sudden shock, like cold water against his face. It’s Wu, pulling him to skate with him and he reluctantly follows. He shouldn’t be skating with him, he’s a mere stranger, someone he just met this  _ morning _ .

But this boy is pulling him and he feels something in him to follow.

They skate side by side.

“Were you practising your choreography for a tournament?” Mako asks, he looks at his feet, “you looked good, you know.”

“I looked good?”   
  


“Yeah, at your… spins and stuff.”

“Cool,” Wu says, “that’s good to know? Your uh…  _ hockeying  _ was nice. Sports, right?”

Mako blurts out a chuckle, not dry, but genuine. The corners of his lips curls and he flashes a row of white teeth, he runs his hands through his sweat-ridden black hair.

“Sure,” Mako answers. He looks at Wu, who’s staring at him. 

Wu looks back at his feet, “I was practising for Nationals. Ever since Asami paused figure skating for hockey, which I really think about it, she's only really doing it for Korra. But whatever, I had to like step in, because it was a good time for me to start competing. It’s family tradition, I guess. To be like some sort of like figure skating prodigy like my Auntie,” Wu sighs.

“I mean, you landed that weird backflip.”

“Which isn’t allowed, so I’m like rebelling, I guess.”

“Against figure skating?”

“By figure skating,” Wu says, smiling, his eyes crinkling.

And all Mako can think about is:

_ Oh no _ .

This boy is a boy of art, made up by tiny pieces of ice shards from the times he’s fallen.

“I think you’re already a prodigy,” Mako says, “I was really trying to keep up with you during the morning but I couldn’t.”

“You were keeping up with me?” Wu asks, “why?”

Too much to tell. He doesn't say that though, what he does is just a shrug. He lets his amber eyes catch light from the moonlight. Wu matches it, forest green eyes looking at his. It’s like fire and the forest, two opposites that combine into one. He sees the flush of red on Wu’s cheeks, and he knows what comes after this. A kiss. This moment is perfect, it’s quiet and alone, at night.

He shouldn’t be nervous.

Mako kisses him, less than a kiss, more than a peck. It’s oddly intimate, the brush of lips that’s trying to be more than just that, but too shy to step any further. Wu guides them, lets his hands fall naturally to grab at his sides, while Mako touches his soft hair.

When they pull apart, Mako’s face feels like it’s on fire.

They stare at each other awkwardly.

Then there’s the burst of awkward laughter that comes after a kiss. 

“So,” Wu says after the calm down, “you should thank Asami for making you put up with me this morning.”

“Fuck off,” Mako says.

“I'll take that as a yes.”

  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> idk anything about ice hockey and figure skating so don’t @ me


End file.
